Tapioca Tundra
by Hullabaloo Torkalloo
Summary: When Mike, Peter, and Davy gave Micky a surprise party, their whole world turned upside down.
1. A Birthday Party Plan

**Genre/Pairing: Mike Nesmith/OFC, Micky Dolenz/OFC, Peter Tork/OFC, and Davy Jones/OFC.**

**Warnings: Mild languages**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the Monkees except for my OCs. I'm just a student in high school who loves them, listens to their music and watch their episodes (all the time) but mostly, I am obsessed with Peter!**

**Author's note: I thank you my Beta Reader, Izzi (is it okay if I call you that?) for helping me fix the story. Enjoy, and bring peace, freedom, and love for our generation :P**

**Chapter 1: A Birthday Party Plan**

It was an early March Wednesday morning at North Beachwood Drive near a beach in Malibu, thirty-three miles away from Los Angeles, California.

The view of the beach was magnificent. The sun shone brightly against the clear blue sky, the waves crashed against the hot, fresh sand, and seagulls flew in a V formation, headed towards the west-side of town.

The neighborhood in Beachwood was very idyllic; a lawn mower roared loudly at the peaceful street, a couple jogged around the block, and a newspaper boy, threw a newspaper at a two-story beach house, just around the corner of the street. There lived four handsome, young boys named Micky Dolenz, Mike Nesmith, Peter Tork, and Davy Jones, also known as, The Monkees.

The door at the front porch opened. A young Texan, probably in his twenties, wore a green silky robe with striped pajamas, and sandals. He picked up the newspaper from the floor, and shivered through the chilly weather.

"Mike, get in. It's time for breakfast." A voice called from inside the pad.

"Just give me a sec, will ya Mick?" Mike called back. He opened the newspaper; the smell of the newly printed ink wafted through his nose, and started to read.

Meanwhile, inside the beach house, Micky prepared a Kellogg's Cornflakes cereal, a bottle of milk, with bread and butter at the dining table with Peter and Davy.

"Okay, bon appetite!" Micky said, as he sat down at the table. Peter and Davy looked unimpressed on what they had on their plates; there wasn't much food. Mike finally came and joined them.

"Oh man, I'm stuffed. I got to go to the grocery store to buy food for lunch and dinner," Micky said, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. _He could've use a napkin_ Davy grimaced. Micky had a bad habit on eating improperly; he lacked table manners. "You guys want to come?"

The others shrugged.

"I don't know man, I have to do the laundry." Mike said.

"Wash the dishes." Peter piped up.

"Clean the plates." Davy said it at the same time.

"Fine," Micky grumbled. "At least give me the list when you're done eating." He went upstairs to his room he shared with Mike and slammed the door shut. Michael followed him and leaned his ear against the door. He heard a drawer opening and closing and then a muffled noise, which means Micky's changing his clothes. Mike went downstairs quietly, and he looked at the others who were still eating.

"Guys, to the balcony." Mike nodded at the back deck outside. They all went and Mike, who came out last, shut the door behind him, and looked at the window from outside the beach house, to see if the coast was clear. _Good, he's not there,_ Mike thought. He turned to face the others while he rubbed his hands together.

"So, folks, it's time to give out our plans for Micky's birthday."

"Should I tell Julianne about it?" The midget Englishman...er... Davy asked. Julianne was the girl Davy met at Lakeview Restaurant where they had a gig at a local club. Julianne was a waitress and they'd been dating for five months.

She had a long, dirty blond hair, with round, brown eyes that, if you look through, you could see the reflection of your face. She had a sweet, beautiful smile, and was a bit taller than Davy; He was 5"3 and his girlfriend was 5"6. Davy loved tall girls just fine and didn't make any adjustments about his height; he thinks tall girls were groovy.

Every time they made out, Julianne would sit on a chair, or crouch a bit so they would be at eye level, and kiss him, but Davy didn't mind.

She was very sweet, kind, smart, and funny. What Davy loved about her was her being respectful to every people- even senior citizens; she was a musician and a good singer, too, which he also loved.

"Not until Friday." Mike replied.

"I mean, can she be the chef for the party? Come on, she's a really good cook. I went to her house before, and she baked me a Sheppard's pie. She's a better cook than…" Davy exchanged looks with Peter. They both snickered.

"Oh, please, it was just an accident. I didn't know the cake would look like shit in front of our plates. I thought the cake would be done in three hours," Mike assorted.

Peter snorted. "You almost got the house on fire. We don't want you to get yourself hurt, again, like last time."

A year ago, Mike announced that they would have a celebration for earning tons of money from a gig they had at a local club. Mike baked them a cake that turned out to be burnt. He ended up in the hospital for injuring his hand and caused the stove to go haywire, making the Monkees pay their landlord Mr. Babbitt, by giving them the money they earned from the gig they had to him.

Davy frowned. "We earned that money; it was about twenty-five thousand dollars." Well, it was worth a lot of money in the 60s. "We could at least buy something special."

Mike crossed his arms, turning red. "Fine, tell her then. Make sure she comes here, early tomorrow." There was a long silence. Finally, Davy spoke.

"Speaking of Micky's birthday, I was just thinking of buying him a camera; it's a Pentax with two lenses on it. He's a photographer nut; I was planning to make the basement as a photo lab,"

"Don't you think the basement's kinda messy? That place wasn't even clean when we moved here; it smelled like dead corpse in there! BLECH!" Mike stuck out his tongue.

"Don't worry, we'll clean it." Davy said. He turned to look at Peter. "How about you Peter, any suggestions?"

"I'm going to give Micky a present; it's a special gift, so I can't tell you." Peter chirped excitedly.

"Please, don't tell me it's another chemistry set like you gave him for Christmas." Davy groaned.

"Oh no, it's not going to be a chemistry set." Peter replied. Last Christmas, Peter gave Micky a chemistry set, which it exploded, landing Micky in the hospital for two weeks.

"What about you Mike? What are you doing for Micky's birthday?" Davy changed the subject.

Mike shrugged. "I was thinking of inviting some of our friends we've known for a really long time, or even his family to surprise Micky."

"You mean that you want the guests to surprise Micky at our house by hiding somewhere he can't see us, and turning the lights off, letting Micky wander around the pad looking for us, popped out of nowhere and saying 'SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MICKY!' is that what you want?" Davy explained.

Mike nodded.

"That's a brilliant idea Mike," Peter piped up. "But, who's going to tell Micky to go to the Pad and make him wonder where we are?"

"I'll do it," Mike answered. "Do you want Julianne to invite some of her friends to the party, Davy?"

"Yeah sure, I'll do that."

"Alright, so it's settled then." They all went back inside the pad. Micky came downstairs, grabbed his jacket, and turned to look at the others before he left. "Do you guys have a list for me?" Mike pulled a piece of paper, folded neatly from his pocket, and gave it to Micky.

"Here."

"Thanks. I'll be back in half an hour. I'll take the Monkeemobile, okay Mike?"

"Just be careful, okay? Always put your seatbelt on." Micky rolled his eyes, and left.

Mike, Peter, and Davy began cleaning the place, pretending like nothing had happened.

* * *

**How was it? Terrible, huh? Sorry. I'm only in first year high school and English isn't my first language so please excuse my writing. I mostly especially suck at writing endings and beginnings so yeah... Yes, I immigrated to Canada so forgive me. I've only been here for two and a half years. If you want more Monkee fan fics, please let me know. Thank you for reading this and peace and love to everyone and save the Texas Prairie chicken :P**


	2. Nothing But To Spend Time With Chicks

**Chapter 2:**

**Nothing but to spend time with chicks at stores**

* * *

Micky parked the Monkeemobile at the curb near the grocery store. He turned off the ignition, stepped out of the car, and headed to the grocery store.

The place was very crowded. The people seemed like they were on a rush. Micky grabbed an empty shopping cart near the cash register and went to an aisle filled with baking materials. He pulled out the list from his pocket and read the first item and kept reading. His eyes narrowed at the list of things he needed to buy. Holy shit, that was a lot! Dozens of eggs, carton of milk, cereal, pancakes, orange juice, ice cream, and donuts, blah, blah, blah.

It took him two hours to get all the items they needed. Micky was damp with sweat as he carried several grocery bags, one by one, into the backseat of the car. He went in the driver seat, fastened his seatbelt, started the ignition, and headed home.

Micky angrily knocked at the door, blaming the others, inwardly, for going to the grocery by himself. The door flung open and Peter stood at the front porch.

"Help me!" Micky shouted at Peter, gesturing at the bags he had put earlier on the pavement. Peter hesitated, but he helped him.

"Hey Davy, Mike, we need a hand over here!" Peter called out from the living room and Davy came out from his room he shared with Peter and helped him and Micky carry the bags.

"Blimey! Are there more of these?" Davy asked Micky.

"Yup, it's at the backseat of the car."

Mike, who was reading the newspaper at the dining table, stood up and helped the others to put the bags at the kitchen counter. Few minutes had passed, the boys sat on the living room couch, and Mike turned on the TV.

"How long have you been at the store, Mick?" Davy asked.

"Two hours! The place was filled with people and I have no time. I didn't have enough money, so I took some things that were cheap," Micky sighed heavily. "I have to take a shower. G' day."

"But Micky-"

"I said good day!" He went upstairs to his room, and slammed the door shut.

He laid his back on his bed and stared at the plain, blank ceiling. "When are they going to realize that my birthday's in two days?" He kicked off his shoes, hard enough that it flew across the room and hit the wall. He went to his closet, picked up his clothes, and went to the bathroom to take a shower.

* * *

Micky decided to go to Lenny's Boot Shop to meet his friend Celina Phelps. He met her when the guys went bowling with one of Julianne (Davy's girlfriend)'s friends and Micky helped Celina how to bowl. The guys talked, played, and told flat jokes (mostly Peter and Mike) with the girls. Micky was quite fascinated by Celina. He wasn't much for shy girls, but Celina was really an exception. She had been shy at first, but Micky had been revelling that half hour spent at the bowling alley, with Micky teaching her bowling. He tried to get her to open up and get to know each other. She wasn't talkative, but she asked questions. Micky imagined that she had learned more about his life in those thirty minutes than his roommates had learned in two years.

She was petite, curvy, with long, thick, very curly, brown hair that had yellow streaks at the ends of it. She had beautiful smile with braces on her teeth- Micky didn't know why, but he found that attractive- and had big brown almond-shaped eyes that she almost look like a mouse.

She was sweet, smart, and funny, self-contained, warm and affectionate, who didn't mind showing she care (without over-doing it) and who have lots of "cool".

He strolled inside the store, and the lovely scent of newly arrived boots, clothing, money, and cologne greeted him. A saleslady was folding clothes and turned around to look at Micky. He recognized that it was Celina and she ran up to him and hugged him. Micky hugged her back, not wanting to let go of her at the moment,and he stroked her hair, and loving the vanilla-scented perfume she always use, that reminded Micky of vanilla ice cream. He hugged her even tighter.

They broke their hug apart, and they fidgeted, getting nervous, not knowing what to say to each other. Micky took a quick glance around the place; there were women at the store whispering and muttering, looking at Micky and to Celina. They had envy looks on their faces, and Micky worried that they might tackle him or chase him since he's famous and the drummer in the group; Celina hugged a _Monkee,_ for Pete's sake!

Micky cleared his throat. "Is this a bad time to visit you, isn't it?"

Celina knew what he was talking about. "No, this is not the bad time and don't worry; the girls or crazy Monkee lovers whatever you call them, won't rip your body apart and tear your hair, eyes, your clothes, or... you're wonderful, yet goofy face off." She looked down at the floor, hoping Micky didn't notice her face turning hot red.

Thankfully, Micky just laughed. Celina looked up at him and smiled. They stared at each other for what it felt like hours. Micky's heart pounded, adoring Celina's brown eyes. Suddenly, Celina cleared her throat.

"So, um Micky- wait... let's start over- Hello, good morning to you sir, how can I help you today?" _Wow, she's really quick on picking things up _Micky thought.

"Same thing to you my lady," Micky, tried to play along, and pretended to lift a hat off his head and put it back on, as a sign of a greeting and gave her the goofiest face he could muster. "Do you have one of them, um, double-breasted t-shirts?"

"Yes, we have. Please, follow me." She giggled and guided her to a rack of clothes near a fitting room. Micky went stark and picked an enormous gang of clothes he could find, for what a money can buy, but then he took out his wallet and looked inside it. He turned to look at Celina.

"What's wrong, Mick?"

"How much do these clothes each cost?"

"Six dollars and ninety-nine cents." She looked over Micky's shoulder, and saw two dollars inside.

"Man, I'm four dollars and ninety-nine cents short. It's okay, I'll buy it next time." Micky recalled the time that he spent all his money at the grocery store buying all the items for God-knows-what Mike, Peter, and Davy needed it for. Micky sighed and slumped his shoulders.

"Oh, Micky. Are the guys bothering you?" It came out of the blue. Celina caught him off guard.

"What? No! No, there's nothing wrong between me and the guys." Micky chuckled nervously, but Celina looked straight through his eyes, telling him she was serious. Micky finally gave up.

"Mike, Pete, and Davy were acting so strange lately. I saw them at the back deck talking about something, not even letting me know what's happening. Before that, I asked them if they could help me go shopping, and excuses spilled out of their mouths. I knew something was up, so I decided to go by myself and Mike gave me a long grocery shopping list, but I bought only few items, because the place was getting crowded. And when I came back, I was sweating and tired as hell, and they just acted normal like nothing's been going on."

"Tell you what; meet me at the Lakeview Restaurant in about forty-five minutes; I'm working half- day today, so I could offer you some food for free. How's that sound for a tired, stressed Monkee like you?"

"Sounds good to me." Micky gave her another hug, not caring what the other women in the store thought about them. Celina hugged him back and gave him a peck on the cheek, which made Micky blushed.

"I'll see you later." Celina chirped.

"Yeah, bye." Micky gave her a wave and left the store, revelling the time where Celina kissed him on his cheek. And for the first time, all of Micky's worries were gone.

* * *

Micky waited outside Lakeview Restaurant for Celina to meet him. He felt safer talking to her than his friends, especially Mike and Davy. Davy would just keep bothering you, and following you-nonstop- until you decided to give up. Micky came to realize it was partly because Davy was just one of those people who likes to study people and their facial expressions, and partly because they were close; he was really good at catching people off guard. He wanted to feel one of his friends out first- maybe discover something that might give an advantage in figuring out what the hell was going on and never missed an opportunity to put his considerable intuition to use. He was one of those people with a rare gift for ferreting out problems, instinctively trying to help people who were troubled. Davy was another man; he was very deep, not shallow. If there was one thing Davy was good at when the situation called for, it was being direct and that's his approach he took on for his friends- and someone else's.

Discussions on serious subjects, it would turn Mike on and charge his mental batteries. Above all, Mike simply hated dishonesty and phoniness; he got dead serious if you were not going to tell him what was going on. He was quick enough to figure it out by catching you completely off guard and hitting you right between the eyeballs! Out of nowhere, Mike would quietly say something with a straight face that actually put those around him rolling in the aisles. "I know you're lying, but I'll buy it for now because you'll tell me the truth when you're ready," He'd say to his friends. Mike didn't know he was this easy to read, but his bandmates had long since learned the difficult language of Nesmith. One thing he was really good at, was that he had a sharp memory and never missed any damn details on what you told him. You couldn't fool that Monkee.

Aside from Peter, he was all ears when it came to talking about secrets. He doesn't pry by asking too many questions, but he always told their friends that it wouldn't work out if they don't solve the problem, and he doesn't want his friends to get mad at him, putting his nose in someone else's business. Somehow, he's careful, considerate, and harmless on what came out of his mouth. "Think first before you speak,_"_ he said to himself. Keeping secrets and not telling a soul was his way on handling things. But Peter was uncertain if he either would be involve in the situation or just let it be, since it wasn't his problem. The others felt the same way, but it wasn't right for them to leave it and not discuss it. They always had their backs, knowing that they supported one another, and not wanting themselves to get hurt.

That's what friends are for, right?

Micky decided to go inside and wait. Burgers, fries, and salads wafted through his nose. He felt his stomach grumble. Just looking at the food spread around the table while people ate, it was so mouth-watering and the smell of the food was very intoxicating. He shook the thought and licked his lips. _Maybe I should start eating without her then _Micky thought, but then he realized he didn't have enough money.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself and found a vacant table at the corner of the restaurant. As he sat down, he saw Celina joyfully, trotting like a horse towards Micky; he loves it when she's so full of energy and filled with enthusiasm. Micky loved girls that were hyper, giddy, and fun, not caring what people thought about themselves. Happy-go-lucky was the best term for a chick like Celina. She hugged him; once again, people would stop and stare. One of the family's daughters had envy, yet desperate looks on their faces; _Man it felt so good to be a Monkee!_ Micky smiled to himself.

"Hey, am I late?"

"No, you're just in time. Please, sit." He offered to pull a chair for her and she sat down.

"Thank you."

"You're quite welcome." Micky sat across from her and called a waitress and took their orders.

* * *

"So, are you gonna tell me what happened?" After they got their food- Sandwich club and OJ for Micky, and Macaroni and Cheese for Celina- Micky told her everything.

"Well, they must've been busy and forgot your birthday, but maybe they're throwing you a surprise party or something. Now, don't expect that, but that's happened to me before. Don't feel too bad this has happened to you. Remind them. People have such busy lives and guys can be the worst about remembering special dates, even if they are not busy. Make sure you let them know how that felt. If it's the end of the day and they haven't said anything, if I were you, I wouldn't confront them, but pretend to be talking to someone on the phone regarding your birthday while they are around."

"Honestly, a birthday is just one day of the year," Celina continued. "If you communicate with your friends enough to believe in your friendship, one day shouldn't make a difference. Yes, it is a special day to celebrate the day someone came into existence and into your life, but forgetting a birthday doesn't mean they forget you exist." Celina had a point. How come Micky didn't thought about that? But then again, he wasn't so sure about it. Were his friends really talking about his birthday back at the pad or was it something else? Should he even remind them about his birthday?

"I'll think about it later."

"Speaking of your birthday coming up on Friday, where do you want to go?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I mean, my birthday present for you is taking you anywhere you want to go."

"Anywhere?" Micky repeated.

"Yes. If you could take a vacation anywhere in the entire world, where would you go?"

"Across the Freeway to Burbank, where the poppies grow. Later, I might spend a weekend in Palm Springs, and late at night, I used to have a camera to bring with me every time I'm bored and had nothing to do... until Peter broke it. But take me to Sunset Strip; I'd love to drive down and take time to snap a photo (if I have one) of exposures of street lights and others cars driving by. How about you?"

"I want to go to London. You know, they have those groovy double-decker red buses, along with driving on the opposite side of the road. I wanted so much to be around young people and go to small restaurants and listen to them talk. You wouldn't think there would be a communications barrier in another English speaking country, but there is. They have a very different way of describing things and their sense of humor is different."

"Like Davy?"

"Maybe. But I want to meet the Beatles, especially Paul McCartney! You're lucky, you met them a few months ago." Celina faux- pouted.

"You sure are a Beatle freak." They talked for hours; Micky could barely eat his food, but he didn't care. They laughed, told their childhood memories, their embarrassing moments; the time somebody had stolen the hub caps off Micky's brand-new GTO before he met the other three and became the Monkees for whatever reason, and the time where Celina had a pool embarrasment; and this made Micky almost choke on his food.

"It was Thanksgiving weekend and I went to Massachusetts to see my friend Terryn and her brother. Little did I know that her fourteen year old brother invited his friend who was eight years older and British. His name was Brandon. Last time, I met him and he was an idiot, being a lovey dovey (almost) twenty-one year old, I thought he was soooo cute! So we were playing Apples to Apples with my friends and Brandon. When he said this really lame joke, we all started laughing I snorted really loud, not only that, but my friends had a swimming pool so when we were changing, I picked this really cute bikini with a padded top and when I saw him, I fell! He had a smallish six pack. Anyways, when I was jumping off the diving board, Brandon pulled my bottles off! I went red and ran to my friends' room."

"What a Randy Scouse Git!" They both cracked up, and this time Celina snorted loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear. Some people stared at them awkwardly, and some left their table that was close to them. They both settled down, catching their own breath.

"Oh, man. That was so funny." Celina picked up her handkerchief and wiped the tears out of her eyes. She was unconscious of the fact that she was bursting into tiny fists of hysterical laughter, which Micky found quite cute.

"I know. I hope we get to do this again." Micky smiled and stared dreamily at her. He took her hand in his; it was so small, smooth, warm, and delicate like a baby's hand. Celina squeezed his hand, and Micky squeezed back. They stared for a really long time with tiny sparkles in their eyes. Micky wouldn't let go of her, and Celina was doing the same thing. Micky's tough day back at the beach house, dissolved along with all of his worries and he was happy, as long as Celina was with him.


	3. Zilch!

**Author's Note:**** It's been a long time, I know! I apologize for not getting these stories done. I'm on the verge of failing on my courses, and I'm trying my best to keep on track in school. Geography's bullshit, since I don't know anything about Canadian Geography. Vocal class is getting pretty boring, English is okay, easy, but a lot of work, and Religion was okay, too. UGH! HIGH SCHOOL IS FRIGGIN' HARD! This chapter is a crappy one, since I have a lot of stuff to do in life, so please bare with me! I will be away from the Internet for a really long time, and I'll be back till God-knows-when. Enjoy reading! (or not). Reviews and constructive criticism are appreciated!**

**Warning:**** Nonsensical chapter. As you are reading this, this story will get you to boredom. Trust me. I apologize if I wrote this chapter in a rush! Please bear with me!**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Zilch!**

That same day, in the pad, Davy was talking to Julianne on the telephone, while Mike was writing in his green leather notebook, and Peter reading "_The Sayings of Buddha"_, which he found it quite interesting.

"Yeah, love. Micky's birthday is on Friday."

_"You need my help, sweetie?"_

"Yeah, we need your help with the cooking."

_"Okay, when do I go at your house?"_

"Come here tomorrow and we'll talk about it."

_"Should I go to your house really early?"_

"Eight-thirty in the morning, love. Oh, you could bring your friends for the party, if you want.

_"Yes, I would love to!"_

"That's fantastic, sweetheart. Alright, I'll see you, my darling."

_"Yeah you too, babe. I love you."_Julianne purred.

"I love you, too, darling. Goodbye." Davy hung up the phone and went to the living room where Peter and Mike were minding their own business. Davy clapped his hands together, interrupting them. Mike and Peter looked up from their books.

"Well ol' chaps, great news! Julianne is going to help us tomorrow and she's good to go. She's going to invite her friends for the party, and I told her to get here eight-thirty, sharp. Did you give them the invitation, Mike?"

"Well, I called Micky's parents and his sisters Coco, Debbie and Gina. They seemed so happy and excited about it. I called my mother to go too, and uh, well, I invited my friend John, Peter's family and his friend Stephen, also Niles our neighbour. There's a few more that we have to call and I don't know, man. Are you sure about this? I mean; I don't want too much people hangin' around the house."

"It's perfect, Mike, don't worry about it. As long as they don't bring any dope or frodis and get stoned all the way; Micky's family is going to be here."

"Why don't you just invite the people that are important to us, the ones that we're really close to, not the ones that we just met at one of our gigs and hung out with once in a while? I mean we don't know them too well. Just make sure Michael that John would bring just a few friends that we can trust. Tell him not to bring any joint or Mr. Babbitt's going to get mad at us. If they did-even if they hide it- your mom, Micky's parents or mines would notice that, they might tell our landlord, it's dangerous even for Debbie and Gina; they're too young for people like us to hang around." Peter pointed out.

"That's true. Sure, I'll just get my notebook and check." As Mike was about to get his things, the phone rang. Mike picked it up and answered.

"Hello?"

_"Good morning. This is Janelle calling. Is this Michael?"_

"Mike, who is it?" Peter wanted to know.

Mike covered the phone. "It's Micky's mom." He put the receiver back on his ear. "Uh, yeah. Um, yes. This is Michael Nesmith speaking. How can I help ya?"

_"Oh, thank heavens. I was going to ask you if you want to help me write a song."_

Mike glanced at his friends and they gave him a 'what did she say?' look. Mike put his finger to his lips.

"A song? What for, Mrs. Scott?"

"Please, call me Janelle... I want to give a birthday present for my wonderful son and since you're in a band, I was thinking of making a special song, and I assumed that you were thinking about the same thing." Mike thought for a moment. After the fuss about Micky getting pissed at them, Mike went to his room and began listing, calling, and organizing, and writing invitations about the party. It was really exhausting, but he tried his best. He spent his time all morning pacing back and forth across the room, thinking about his gift for Micky. Then it hit him; he gathered his blonde Gretsch 12 string guitar, a piece of paper, a pencil, and a tape recorder for him to listen to his guitar playing, to check if it needs improvement, changes, or editing. But what Mike had brainstormed on his paper was blank. Nothing. Nada. Zilch, with a big fat egg. Well, it was really nice for someone to help him with the song.

"Yeah, I was thinking of writing him a song too, but I had no clue what to write. What was yours about?"

_"If you could jot down the words on the paper, maybe you could understand what it is."_

"Oh, uh sure." Mike picked up his notebook and pencil and wedged the phone between his shoulder and neck, while he tried to write everything Janelle had said to him. A couple of minutes later, Mike thanked Janelle on the phone, hung it up, and read it.

_There's a wonderland for Alice._

_There's a tall beanstalk for Jack._

_The sleepy train will take you there._

_So safely down the track._

_With the sandman at the throttle,_

_You'd be off to dreams and back._

_It's pillow time, again._

"So, what did she say?" Davy and Peter said it in unison, breaking Mike out of his thoughts.

"Wha-? Oh, yeah. Micky's mom said she needed help on writing a song for Micky. So I insisted on helping her, and she told me to write it down to see if it needs some editing."

Peter looked over at Mike's shoulder and read. "Don't cha think she made the story about Alice, and Jack in the Beanstalk into a song? I mean it's so far-out man. You dig?"

"I think I'm beginning to see," Mike said. He then stood up and climbed up the spiral staircase.

"Where are you going, Mike?" Davy asked.

"I uh need to do something." He went in his room and slammed the door shut. Davy and Peter exchanged confused looks.

Mike finally had something in mind. He grabbed his guitar, put his headphones on, along with his tape recorder and began to strum some melodies and harmonies on his guitar. He concentrated on how his long, slender, calloused fingers played along the fret board, pausing and jotting down chord after chord, editing, thinking, and keeping track of time. Pause, write, and play. Pause, write, and play. After recording it, he listened carefully and closed his eyes, singing along to the music over and over again. He winced every time he made a mistake.

Mike worked hard and steady, especially if the work was aimed toward his ambitious goals. He had a matter-of-fact yet efficient way of handling things. He ironed out details, because anything uncompleted or unfinished bugged him. The key that unlocked Mike's whole purpose in life was one mighty, powerful word—Ambition. He had reached success through his strong will of not only wanting to get somewhere and be someone in this world, but by doing something about it. His 'do or die trying' attitude had refused to let him give up.

* * *

Meanwhile, Peter took a shower, since there wasn't much fun to do in the pad. Mike was busy in his room, not wanting to be interrupted or anything, and Davy drove the Monkeemobile off to find Micky. He was worried about him, wandering off to God-knows-where. Usually, Mike did all the worrying, that was what he did, but he looked too caught up in his work to think about anything else.

The hot water felt good against his skin. He stood under it for so long, that clouds of steam began to make the walls sweat. When he opened the shower curtain, the blast of cold air shocked him. He wrapped a towel around himself quickly, the towel scratching against his skin like sandpaper, and his calf muscles tight as knots. He got dressed, pulling on his jeans- and of course, his belt was always placed on the side- a blue t-shirt, shoes, with mismatched socks, and he went out the bathroom to get his jacket hanging on the coat rack and headed to the beach.

He needed some time to think. When people around him caused trouble or made his unhappy, Peter didn't like it. In these cases, he usually crawled into his own shell and shut others out. Even if he likes people a lot, Peter still liked to be by himself a great deal of the time. He had a great love for nature and whenever he could, he would go off by himself on quiet drives to the mountains or to a deserted beach; most of the time walking. This was when he really felt the happiest. Peter was the kind of person who sometimes impressed others as really being far-out. This was proven by his personal tastes in music, clothes and surroundings.

He walked on his bare feet along the beach carrying his shoes, not wanting to get all sand in them. He loved it, because it was warm, perfect, and he felt so free to run around and collect some seashells. He sat down on the hot sand, watching the ocean, admiring the view of the clear blue sky, and the waves crashing gently towards the sand and back to the water. He touched the sand with his feet, and felt it all cold and mushy. He closed his eyes as the wind blew at his face. Several minutes later, he stood up, wiped the sand off of his feet, put his shoes back on, not caring to put his socks first, and headed toward the street, back to his neighbourhood.

Peter made his way down the neat little street, with a laundry shop, a diner with a big nylon sign that said _Main Street Eatery_, beside it was a local music store. And then something caught his eye. There was an art gallery across the street. The beach house wasn't that far away, so Peter reached the art gallery, which it was being held in an old lofty English farmhouse near the woods, past a bookstore with two white cats sitting in the front window, and a Dunkin' Donuts store.

He noticed that the place was closed and a glossy poster was paste at the window. **_Art Gallery Exhibition: Grand Reopening. Don't miss it at 7 TONIGHT!_ **It said in an elegant, bolded, cursive words. Peter spent the whole spring break in his bedroom meditating, playing with his string instruments, reading, and helping with the birthday plans. A look at the paintings of great, inspiring artists in a groovy, lofty English farmhouse would be nice.

"Excuse me, sir. Have you seen a Monkee?" Davy was at the local park and found a businessman sitting on the park bench. It was getting hot outside, and Davy still hasn't found Micky yet.

"A what?"

"You know? Male. About six foot tall with brown puffy, straight hair, brown eyes, he was skinny, and does the James Cagney impression."

"WHAT?!"

"The James Cagney impression. 'You're the dirty rat that killed my brother!' He did a pretty good job on that one."

"I still don't get ya kid."

Davy groaned. "Do you know Micky Dolenz? You see; he was a Monkee like me. In a band called The Monkees. Have you even heard of us?"

"What do The Monkees sound like?"

"Well of course, it ain't the monkey noises you hear yapping and shouting at the zoo."

"I'm really sorry, kiddo. Doesn't ring a bell to me, lad. You need help."

"You know what? Never mind. I'll ask someone else who does listen to The Monkees. G'day."

"What a weird kid."

"I heard that!" Davy turned and walked away. He spent hours looking for Micky and asking people if they had seen him or not. How stupid of him asking people if they found any Monkee monkeying around? He went back to the Monkeemobile and off the road to find Micky.

"Now, where would Micky go? He was not at the bowling alley, or at the Eatery, but where would I find a particular place where he often go to?"_ Aha! I got it. He's at the Lenny's Boot Shop, of course! He loves buying those double-breasted shirts and always wear them when we had gigs and hang out with Julianne and her friends. I might even buy some of those shirts for him as a gift!_

He parked the car at the curb and bursted inside Lenny's Boot Shop. "Oh!" _This is bad._ There were girls everywhere! Some had stars in their eyes, others whispered and giggled. Oh I hope they wouldn't faint. Davy approached a saleslady and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Oh, hi! Let me guess... are you another Monkee?"

"Yes I- wait, how did you know?"

"Well, I saw one came in talking to Celina an hour ago. I heard that they're having a date at Lakeview Restaurant. It's Micky, right? That was his name."

_Celina Phelps was on a date with Micky? She must be joking!_ "Yeah, that's him. I'm Davy by the way, and you already know that I'm in a band with Micky."

"Yeah, I know you and The Monkees. I'm Olivia. My brother, Felix, heard you play in one of your concerts a few months ago, probably in Mobile, Alabama and he loves to travel. I dig your music."

"Oh, thanks. I would love to meet this brother of yours, if only I have time. I think I should go now. I can't stand these women all around me. Bye!" He ran back to his car and of course, a stampede of girls chased after him. Davy quickly stepped on his gas, and went to Lakeview Restaurant.

"Micky! We have to go!" Davy shouted across the restaurant, not caring about the people staring at him.

"What happened?" Micky and Celina both stood up. Davy looked at them back and forth. They were holding hands. _So it is a date!_ At first Davy didn't believe Olivia, but by the look of Micky's dreamy face, he could tell he digs that chick.

"I can't tell you, because we have no time."

"It's okay, Micky. You can go; I'll see you later." Celina winked at him. Micky tried to peck on her cheek, but Davy pulled him away and out the door, without saying goodbye to her.

"Okay seriously man, you need to chill. What the hell is going on?"

"Now, it is not the time to explain, Mick. It's-" A scream echoed through the street. They both looked for that noise. Then a man bumped into Davy. He noticed it was the guy whom he met at the park earlier. The man tried to get away from him, but Davy managed to stop him.

"You again? Look where you are bloody going, man."

"Run, my lad!" The man was covered with sweat and panted.

"Huh? Why?" Micky was confused. There was that scream again, it wasn't just any scream it was a girl's scream. They heard footsteps coming to a fast running pace like a bunch of horses galloping towards them. They heard voices calling Davy's name.

"Oh!" Davy said when he's in trouble, upset, or worried like right now.

"Oh boy." Micky groaned. A stampede of girls chased them calling their names and other random things.

"WE WANT THE MONKEES! -"

"-DAVY WE LOVE YOU!"

"-THERE HE IS! HE'S WITH MICKY!"

"-AAAAAAHHHHHH! DAVY! MICKY!"

"IT'S THE MONKEES! GET THEM!"

"Let's split!" Micky shouted.

"No, Mick! Get in the Monkeemobile!" They both got in and Davy tried to start the ignition, but it didn't work.

"Damn it! It won't work!"

"Uh, Davy. They're coming!" Davy looked at the rearview mirror and saw the fans coming towards them.

"Quick, close the windows!" Davy ordered Micky. He did what he was been told and Davy tried to start the car over and over again. They felt the Monkeemobile rocking back and forth violently. Micky screamed. The girls pressed their bodies against the cars, knocking at their windows.

"Davy, I'm scared!"

The Monkeemobile finally worked. They heard the engine roared and they both let out a sigh of relief. Davy stepped the gas, passed the speed limit and headed home.

"Wait for me, boys!" The man yelled, but the car faded out on the road.

Davy and Micky high-fived and laughed. It wasn't their first time getting chased by fans. A nut chick off the stage tackled Davy, Peter's clothes got ripped, Mike's guitar strings got stolen, and Micky's underwear, too! He didn't know a girl had snuck into his dressing room when they had a rehearsal in the studio. It was creepy though come to think of it; you might not know what the girl would do to his private personal stuff, now that they had bodyguards securing the perimeter of their dressing rooms and the studio.

They came to a halt and took a break.

Davy decided to go to the park for a while and talked.

"Why do you want to go here? Those chicks ain't gonna stop and get us!"

"Chill, Micky. They're not going to find us here."

"So you're on a date with Celina, huh?" Davy changed the subject.

"It wasn't a date, Davy. She offered me a free lunch. That's all..."

"I saw you holding her hand and you had stars in your eyes. Don't tell me it's nothing. You're a great couple, you and her. You should hang out with her more often, if you want to go steady with her." Davy chuckled and patted Micky's back.

Micky blushed and shrugged. "I don't know, man. I get nervous every time I'm around her. She's a groovy kid, you know. She's funny, sweet, cute, and you know, she wouldn't like me. She's not that into me."

"What are you talking about? You're a Monkee, for God's sake! Come on, with all of your talents, your impersonations, your James Cagney bit, girls loves ya, you know?"

"Yeah, that's just because I'm a Monkee. I mean, I want a girl to understand me, the real me, you know? I don't like people who were phonies and had "gone Hollywood" that tries to be something that they're not."

"I dig you, Micky." Another yelp came out of nowhere. They panicked, looked frantic with worry, and started to sweat.

They drove off the road, and they happened to find Peter walking on the sidewalk. Peter waved at them, and Davy rolled down the driver's window. "Hurry! Get in!" shouted Davy.

"What? What hap- " Peter heard screaming and shouting "WE WANT THE MONKEES! WE WANT THE MONKEES!" off the distance. Without opening the door, he got in the window at the backseat and ended up hanging his legs out and his head and arms inside the car. Peter tried to wriggle himself inside, while Micky pulled him in, but it didn't work. Davy drove the Monkeemobile anyways, since Peter's legs were up in the air.

"Well guys, it seems that we are in a lot of trouble." Peter said.

"If you didn't climbed in the window, you wouldn't be stuck there." Davy asserted.

"Good luck, Pete. 'Cause you're gonna need it." Micky said sarcastically.

"Oh, thanks Micky."

"You know, what? - ugh, never mind."

"All he meant to say was, those girls are going to rip your clothes. Again. If you were too smart enough to think about it, because they're going to pull your pants and you're left with your briefs."

"Don't worry Davy, I have my belt on. They won't take off my pants now."

"Isn't that dumb?" Micky and Davy muttered. Luckily, they had the chance to hide in the pad on time. They hid the car in the garage. If it weren't for Mike who painted the car with their guitar- shaped logo 'The Monkees' on it, they wouldn't have to cover the car with a blue tarp car cover. Peter was still stuck and Davy and Micky managed to get him out of there. Micky locked the garage door and guided the others inside the pad. Davy locked the front door, Peter locked the back door, and they draw all the curtains down in their respective bedrooms, the basement, their bathrooms and the kitchen everything they need to draw and lock their pad so that the girls wouldn't get in and see them. They all went upstairs and Davy knocked on the door. Mike opened it and had a confused look on his face.

"What's wrong, guys?"

"Girls! Girls everywhere came to get us! -" Davy started.

"- I saw the girls in the store and they chased after me-"

"-Davy said that my pants are gonna get ripped! –" Peter shouted.

"-Peter's stupid-" Micky muttered.

"- I was stuck in the window-"

"- I had sandwich and OJ at lunch-"

"- I found Micky and Celina in a restaurant. I heard they were on a date or something. But they had a date-"

"- We didn't have a date, Davy. I told you!" Micky pushed him.

"Now wait a minute." Mike started.

"Oh, don't you even start, man." Davy pushed Micky back.

"- Hey, I want to be in this! Come on, man. Don't leave me out of your conversation!" Peter

chimed in and the three of them started pushing each other.

"Guys." Mike yelled, but they were still pushing and now they were punching.

"G-guys, guys calm down- guys, he- oh what the hell…" Mike grabbed a megaphone- out of nowhere- and pressed the siren.

He shouted, "WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP ALL OF THIS NONSENSE?!"

The others froze and looked at Mike.

"Thank you! Geez, can you guys relax? Just talk one at a time, for crying out loud!" The others dropped their heads, embarrassed.

"Now, let's just do it this way. Davy, you go first, then Micky, and Peter."

"The girls were chasing us like crazy! We all locked the doors, draw all the curtains and

everything." Davy babbled.

"We just wanted to make sure that no one gets in." Micky said.

"Yeah, and I was stuck in the window from the backseat of the Monkeemobile when we were heading home." Peter chirped.

"Okay, well- stuck in the window? What- how the hell did you get stuck in the window?"

Davy, Micky, and Peter started babbling, and Mike pressed the siren again.

"ONE ATTA TIME!" Mike shouted through the megaphone.

"Well, I was just headed home and I saw the Monkeemobile stopped. Davy told me that the girls as you already know, chased Micky and Davy. I went in the backseat window and I was stuck. They told me that my pants were getting ripped by one of them, if I wasn't too dumb to think about it and all."

"Wait. Remember what I told you guys when fans are chasing us that you should close your windows, lock the doors, and put on the hood of the car?"

"Yeah, we did that." Davy said.

"Then how did Peter get trapped in the window?"

"Well, uh-" Micky looked at Davy.

"I must've broken the window to pieces, when I was about to get in." Peter chuckled nervously.

"Oh, Peter. You must've gotten hurt! Are there any splinters on you head? Is it bleeding?"

"Mike, he's fine. What we need to worry about right now are those girls!" Davy interrupted.

"What I need to worry about is Peter's head and the window of my car. That damn thing cost me three-hundred dollars!" Mike yelled.

"So, our car is more expensive than a Rolls Royce?" Davy asked. Mike was about to punch him, but Micky cut him off.

"Draw the curtains, Mike. We'll just sneak a peek in there to see if the girls are still looking for us." They pushed Mike inside his room and Micky-just out of nowhere-grabbed a binoculars and looked through the window.

"Have you seen anything yet, Mick?" Davy asked impatiently.

"Hey, I wanna see it!" Peter chimed in.

"Guys, just shhh!" Micky finally spotted girls with banners and pictures of The Monkees wandering around the street asking neighbours if they found any one of them. A few minutes had passed; the girls finally gave up, and walked away.

They all let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God, they're gone." Micky whistled. He sat on his bed and looked at the others. Davy sat on a stool, Mike sat on his bed and Peter sat beside him. Peter noticed that Mike was writing a song and picked up the paper. He read through it and realized the song was for Micky. Mike grabbed quickly the paper from him and gave him a stern look. Micky caught them and noticed the room was filled with crumpled papers and music notes scattered on the floor. What has Michael been doing?

"What's that?" Micky pointed at the sheet that Mike was holding. Mike hid it behind his back and Peter picked up all the scattered sheets across the concrete floor.

"Oh, uh, yeah-" Mike cleared his throat in an attempt to rid the squeakiness in his voice.

"It's, uh, it's nothing. Just taking some notes for your birth- I mean uh… for our finances for the rent." He chuckled nervously.

Davy gave him a warning look. Micky eyed each of them suspiciously and stared directly at Mike. He noticed he began to sweat and his hands were shaking.

"Really? Our finances? With a guitar and headphones?" Micky said dubiously.

Mike tried to explain, but he stuttered. _Heh, thought so_. Micky smirked. Luckily, Davy got a chance to interrupt them when he looked around the pad, and looked at the their calendar. He noticed that Micky had to visit his grandfather in Chicago for two days starting tomorrow and he will have to return on Friday, which is on his birthday!

"Cheese and crackers! Micky, it says on your calendar that you have to visit your grandfather in Chicago for two days starting tomorrow and you will have to return on Friday." Micky spun around and read the calendar. He almost forgot about grandpa-sitting his Gramps, since Micky's cousin, Luther, had a soccer tournament and his parents can't miss it, so they called Micky to take care of his Gramps, Thomas, since he was the closest one in the family.

"Damn it! I have to grandpa-sit Gramps tomorrow."

"Why?" Peter asked.

"My cousin, Luther, has a big soccer tournament tomorrow in Minnesota, and his parents don't want to miss their son goal a score. So they called me, since I was the closest one to the family. Gramps was really ill. He was eighty-three years old. Poor old man."

"What's his illness?"

"Pneumonia."

"I'm sorry, man. Maybe you should start packing up your things, so you wouldn't be worried about anything. Or we should help you." Davy insisted.

"Yeah, let's get started." Micky and Davy went downstairs to get his luggage in the storage room. Before Davy closed the door, he winked at Mike. He exhaled through his nose. He would thank Davy later for saving his life. Davy and Micky came back and all of them packed his clothes, his money, his food, his socks, underwear garments, toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, and his guitar case in a fast forward motion.

"Wait a minute. Now wait just a minute. What do you need the guitar for?" Mike interrupted.

"I was thinking of singing a lullaby for Gramps. He had a hard time sleeping on his own."

"Oh, well, uh, okay." They went back to business-in a fast forward motion- and they all went downstairs while Davy and Micky slid down the bannister. They stumbled on their way to the living room and awkwardly sat on the living room couch.

"Thanks, guys."

"Anytime, Mick." The other three spoke in unison.

"So… who wants pizza?" Mike asked. Peter, Davy, and Micky shot their hands up. Mike grabbed the phone and dialed the number of Shakey's pizza.

* * *

**Once again, sorry if I rushed it! I promise to right another good chapter so... yeah. Please bare with me, for the fact that I'm running out of ideas for the next chapter, since schoolwork was getting in the way. Until next time, this is Hullaballoo Torkalloo, reminding you to save the texas prairie chicken! And also remind your folks to bring peace, love, and freedom to our generation! Tata for now! :D**


	4. She Hangs Out

**Chapter 4: She Hangs Out**

After eating pizza, Peter told his friends about the art gallery and asked one of them if they wanted to go. But they refused, so Peter decided to go alone. Fifteen minutes later, Peter reached the gallery. As he sauntered on a gravel embankment, he heard rustling. _The sky was so black out here,_ Peter thought.

Something made a strange squawking noise off in the woods. And then… More rustling. Peter took a step back. "Hello?" he called quietly.

A pair of curious eyes stared back at him from behind a dilapidated wooden fence. For a moment, Peter's heart stopped. When Peter was little, his friends back from his old days went camping near a creek that had been haunted by an ogre-like Godzilla. His friend Doug told the group about the story. Peter didn't realize that someone scared him behind his back wearing a horrid costume. His friends laughed at him, which made him pee in his pants. But then he realized the eyes were surrounded by white fur. It was only an alpaca. As several more trotted to the edge of the fence, batting their enviably long eyelashes, Peter smiled and exhaled, it was hard to shake the paranoid feeling that someone was watching.

The inside of the farmhouse smelled like freshly baked bread, and a Billie Holliday song was playing softly over the jukebox. A waitress carrying large tray of Bellini's swept past. Peter eagerly grabbed a glass. After he downed the whole thing to prevent him for getting paranoid, he felt a little bit of a buzz inside and he looked around the room. There were at least fifty paintings on the walls, with small plaques bearing the title, artist's name, and price. Thin women with angularly cut dark hair loitered in the clusters near the appetizers. A guy in dark-framed glasses talked anxiously to a buxom woman with a beet-red beehive. A wild-eyed man with frizzy gray hair sipped to what looked like a glass of bourbon, whispering something to his Loretta-Young-look-alike-wife.

Peter's heart thumped. These weren't the normal, local collectors who came to Hollywood art openings—people like Micky's parents, who dressed in business suits and carried thousand dollar Chanel purses. Peter was pretty sure this was the authentic art world, maybe even from Beverly Hills.

The exhibit featured the three different artists. But someone named Paige Brandwyn gathered the majority of the onlookers around abstract paintings. Peter walked up to one of her only pieces that didn't have an enormous crowd of people around it and assumed his best art critic pose—hand on chin and frowning like he was in deep thought. The painting was of a large girth of an eggplant like shaped fruit, with a small, darker purple circle at the tip of it with two weird circle object hanging.

_ Interesting,_ Peter thought to himself. But honestly… it looked like a giant penis.

"What do you think of the brushstrokes?" Someone murmured behind him.

Peter turned around and found himself looking into the soft brown eyes of a tall girl. An excited jolt shot through his body, leaving his toes tingling in his scuffed moccasins. He soon realized he dressed awkwardly than her. He wore nutty t-shirts with his love beads. By contrast, the girl wore a continental check dress, a rippled brim shell hat, and a four inched gore pump heels. No wonder she looked like a six-footer. With her strawberry blonde hair in a blunt cut, cutting it through the cheeks really camouflaged the roundness of her face and her round chin, making the face appear to be less wider, while keeping her hair in long layers up to her chin or even more made it rather prominent. She reminded Peter of a little bit of Micky's face and his sister Coco, combined. She also had a big chin, just the same as Micky's, and the girl's hair were just the same as Coco's.

Peter assessed the painting again. "The brushstrokes were very… powerful."

"True," the girl agreed. "And emotional."

"D-definitely." Peter was nervous to be having an authentic art critic conversation—even though he never attended art classes in high school—especially with someone so… cute. Why on earth would he even go to this place anyway?

"It makes me think of…"

The girl leaned closer, smirking. "Cock maybe?" Her deep and sultry voice made Peter's spine tingle. His eyes widened in surprise. So he wasn't the only one who saw the resemblance.

"It does look a bit like that, doesn't it?" Peter chuckled. "But I think we're supposed to take this seriously. Paige Brandwyn probably painted it to represent solitude, or a very complex structure or something." He tried his 'art critic pose' once again.

_Shit._ The girl was so close to Peter, he could smell her peppermint-gum-and-Bellini-scented breath. "I guess that means that abstract painting over there isn't a nipple, huh?"

An older woman in multicolored cat-eye glasses looked over, startled. Peter covered his mouth to keep from laughing, noticing how there were too much blue eye shadow from her face, bold and colorful. If only she hadn't worn them, she wouldn't look like the blue version of The Grinch… only with its impish grin on her face.

The girl polished off the rest of her drink. "So, what's your name?"

"Peter." He chewed coyly on the swizzle stick that had come with his Bellini.

"It's nice to meet you, Peter." A group of people swept by, pushing him and his new friend closer together. As the girl's hand bumped against his butt, heat rose to Peter's cheeks. Did she touched him by accident… or on purpose?

The girl grabbed two more drinks and handed one to him. "So do you work around here, or are you still in college?"

Peter opened his mouth, contemplating. _I hope I don't get drunk this time at night. _He wondered how old this girl was. She looked young enough to be a college student, and he could picture her living in one of the shabby- chic Victorian houses near Hollywood Hills.

Before Peter could say a word, a woman in a fitted hound's-tooth suit inserted herself between them. With her spiky black hair, she bore more than a passing resemblance to Cruella De Vill from "_101 Dalmatians"_.

"Mind if I borrow her?" Cruella looped her arm around her elbow. She gave Cruella's arm a little squeeze.

"Oh. Sure." Peter stepped away, disappointed.

"Sorry." Cruella smiled apologetically at him. Her lipstick was so dark it was almost black. "But Paige's quite in demand, as you know."

_Paige?_ Peter's stomach dropped. He grabbed her arm. "You're… the artist?"

His new friend stopped. There was a naughty little sparkle in her eye.

"Busted," she said, leaning in to him. "And by the way, that painting really is a dick."

With that, Cruella pulled Paige forward. She fell into step with Cruella and whispered something in her ear. They both giggled before marching into the throng of the art elite, where everyone gushed over how brilliant and inspirational Paige's paintings were. As Paige grinned and shook her admirers' hands, Peter wished there was a trapdoor in the wood floor he could disappear through. He remembered when he and his mother went to an art exhibit. His mother was a fan of art paintings and paints on a canvass on her own. She once told him that there was a cardinal rule of art openings. Peter had broken the rule—don't talk about the work to strangers, since you never know who's who. And for God's sake, don't insult an up-and-coming hotshot's masterpiece.

But judging by the sneaky little smile Paige had just shot in Peter's direction, maybe she didn't mind his interpretation much at all. And that made Peter very, very happy, indeed.

* * *

By the time the art opening was closing, outside the farmhouse was raining. It's a good thing he brought along his umbrella or Mike would have scold him for getting all wet in the rain. He began walking through the woods back to his neighborhood, when he heard a grunt and a loud thud near the alpaca's fence. Peter thought he was getting paranoid again and this time, he avoided it. He heard another thud. He stopped from his tracks and started walking towards the alpaca's fence. He saw a woman kicking her car angrily.

"Fuck, just start already goddamn it!" She went inside the car and started the ignition, but it backfired. She banged her head on the steering wheel.

"Come on work, work!" While the woman was still hitting her head, Peter knocked on her window. The girl jumped and so did Peter, but when he looked, it was Paige. She rolled down the window and Peter leaned in to talk to her.

"Where are you headed, Paige? Is there a problem?"

"Oh. Isn't this a surprise? My car backfired. And well, I can't go home at this rate."

"I could call a cab if you want."

"No, I'll just take a walk. I live near here."

"I do too." Peter said. _She does? For a woman like her with her groovy outfit and everything, she looked more like a Hollywood person to me._

"Really? Where?"

"At North Beechwood, Blvd."

"Huh… well I'm just two blocks east away from your house then."

"I'll just walk you home. I have an umbrella." Why did he say that? He clamped his mouth shut with his hand. Sometimes he didn't have the best control over his mouth in situation like this, when he was standing on the rain with a beautiful girl… oh, dear Lord…

"Okay, but I have to carry my canvasses along with me. I hope it won't get wet."

"Don't worry this umbrella is big enough for two people." Peter said. He clamped his mouth shut again.

"My canvasses are in the trunk. Would you mind getting it for me? I'll open it up."

"Okay." Peter took out the canvasses from the trunk. Paige got out from the car and Peter handed her the umbrella.

"Thanks." Paige said.

"You're welcome."

"What are you going to do about your car? You just can't leave it there and get it all muddy from the rain."

"Oh, don't bother. I'll just phone the tow-truck later at home to get it for me tomorrow morning," she checked her watch. "Boy, it's sure is really late. We better get going before…" A loud thunder rumbled from the foggy cold air. Raindrops fell rapidly from the ground.

"Let's get out of the mud." Peter yelled from the loud rain.

"Okay." Paige yelled back.

"Be careful, you might-" Paige yelped and fell on the ground, covered in mud.

"Slip." Peter finished his sentence. He helped her regained on her feet.

"Shit!"

"You alright?"

"Well, it's a good thing my canvasses are not covered in mud. I must've slipped on my heels. I'll take them off." She was swinging her shoes in one hand by the laces. She grabbed on Peter and ran. Peter carefully avoided getting mud all over him. The rain was getting louder and harder, there was a struck of lightning from the distance.

They ran from the woods, and finally went to a familiar road with nylon signs, the library, the Laundromat, and the Dunkin' Donuts store. They slow down, catching their breath.

"I'm so sorry." Paige gave him an apologetic smile.

"I-it's okay." He let go from Paige's tight grip. Peter gave her a slight smile. He tried not to stare at her. He was also trying to think of something to say, but nothing came from his mind. They were silent for a while, the rain was still dripping harder, and there were more thunder rumbling. Another lightning struck from the sky and Paige jumped.

"Y-you don't like rain much, do you?" Peter questioned.

Paige shook her head. "I like rain fine. It's just that I prefer to be inside, reading, painting, and eating. When I have work, that's when I hate rain the most."

"Oh," was all Peter said.

"Turn left from here." Paige ordered.

_The street's not really familiar to me. That's strange… are we even lost or something? _Peter didn't have the slightest idea where he was headed. From what he remembered when he left the beach house, if he kept going straight he would either end up at some mom-and-pop store where he and his friends got lost, or at the local park, which is closest to home. Peter finally saw the park when they were walking straight ahead.

There were a lot more trees on the road, and a lot of fewer houses. A thick canopy of green blocked out the moon that was glowing lightly against the dim lit street, scattering the road with pale, leafy shadows.

"Here we are." They stopped at the third house they passed by. Peter can't see the house since it was raining harder than before, so they both ended up to a patio while Paige rummaged for her keys and opened the door.

They finally got inside, while Paige closed and locked the door. She ordered Peter to take off his shoes to put it near the coat rack, and she turned the light switch on. Peter gasped by the look of the inside of her house. It was so big, and the house was very… hippie like and psychedelic. The entrance to the living room –the view when you come home –had African design-like curtains above it. Beside it was a wall filled with recorded albums like The Grateful Dead, The Mamas and Papas, Johnny Cash, The Everly Brothers, and many other record album collections of other famous people from the past like Billie Holliday, Ray Charles, Little Richard, and Ella Fitzgerald. _Not one or more than two albums from The Monkees,_ Peter thought.

"I created an old record album on the wall. I love collecting shells and vintage stuff… I hung it along with the curtains. My father loves to collect record albums as well. He got me so hang up on what he listens every single day, I started collecting them, too. I hope you can feel African hippie Japanese style live in Malibu." Paige chuckled. _Hippie style huh?_

"This is the other side view of the living room." The living room's color was a mixture of light to dark brown, tangerine, red, and orange. There was a glass table in the center, and it was also in front of the sofa, which it had a picture frame above it –the sofa was placed at the right corner of the living room near the window- the glass table had two chairs and a lounge chair. Almost like a dining table. Peter decided not to ask her why she'd put the dining table in the living room, but still, it looked even groovier than the pad he was living with his friends for two years.

There was a room that leads to her full kitchen, and to the right side of the kitchen was a door. Beside it was the stairs that leads up to Paige's bedroom. In the living room, it was designed with miscellaneous things like owls, Japanese ornaments; tons of origami papers hanging from the ceiling, there were African like curtains, shells, accessories, designs and many other things. There was also the door to her back patio. There were candles everywhere, and there were even more owls, and picture frames of the famous artists, musicians, and painters. The mini TV was placed near the dining table –or the living table.

"Wow." Peter muttered.

"You like it, huh?" Paige asked.

"Like it? I love it. Your place is so far-out."

"Thank you. I'm just going to change and take a shower for a while. Feel free to be at home, I'm going to make you some hot cocoa later, if you'd like one."

"Sure, please do."

"Okay, I'll be right back." Paige went upstairs and Peter sat down from the sofa and took one more look of her house. The place was so warm and cozy. Peter tried to find his way to the bathroom and finally found it beside the kitchen and closed the door shut.

About fifteen minutes later, Paige went downstairs, now that she was dressed up while a towel was wrapped on her head. She went to the kitchen to boil the water from the kettle. She went back from the living room and stood at the lounge chair, took off the towel from her head, and shook her hair back and forth. Peter came back from the living room and saw Paige in her nightgown. Peter tried not to stare at her; she was the loveliest person he had ever seen. She hadn't had her coat on, and he could see her whole figure. She was standing straight now, too, and Peter could see she was taller than he thought without the four-inch heels, at least as tall as he was. She was slender, almost had a voluptuous figure, curves and all. It made Peter's imagination go haywire.

"Well, what do you think of my home?" Peter's head shot up. Paige was looking directly at him. He fervently hoped that she hadn't realized where his eyes had been.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What do you think of my home?" Paige repeated.

"I always t-thought you live in some kind of mansion, because…"

"When I look like a famous artist, that doesn't mean I have to live in a big house with lots of money."

"But, you had some expensive dress back when I saw you at the art opening."

"Yeah, that was until it got stained from the mud." They both chuckled. The kettle made a whistling noise and Paige turned off the stove. She put two cups on the living table and filled it with hot water. She came back with a spoon and a pack of marshmallows and she put each in with the cocoa and she stirred it. She gave her the mug to Peter.

"Thank you." Peter muttered. He noticed something white was bobbing in his cocoa.

"Why do you put marshmallow in these?" That was the dumbest question he had ever asked than all the girls he had met in his life. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

Paige sipped her hot cocoa and raised her eyebrow. "Why do you put pickles on burgers?"

"I-I was just—'

"I'm just kidding. The marshmallows make it all gooey, warm, frothier, creamy, and yummy, especially when it is cold outside, your home is nice and warm…nothing like a hot cocoa with extra marshmallows. If you drink it before the marshmallows melt completely, it tastes good. If you wait for them to melt, it just tastes like hot chocolate with extra sugar."

"Really? I always thought that it was because it looks like a few patches of snow in mud, like when spring starts and winter ends. I think it was supposed to show how people awaited in the end of winter and cold weather. Hence the heat in the drink."

Paige laughed and smiled at him. _She has the loveliest smile,_ Peter thought as she went to sit on the sofa with Peter. He tried not to blush. "I always think so, too."

"Drink it." She told him.

Peter sipped his mug. "Mm. That's some fine hot cocoa-mallows." He chuckled. There was an awkward silence. The Bellini he had drank earlier and the hot cocoa made his stomach churned. Paige sipped into her mug. _Well, done Peter. Well done. How dumb can you get? _Peter told himself.

Small talk proceeded throughout the evening, and the conversation eventually got around to where they were both working.

"I sometimes work at the bookstore a few blocks away," Paige said.

"You have two jobs? That's a lot of work."

"Well, I once knew an old woman who told me, 'Girly, you can paint that good, and you can dress real pretty, but it'll never earn you any money.' I'll be damned, but she was right.

"Do you not like it though?"

"It's actually fine. Being in an art workshop and the exhibition is not, but it's necessary. The exhibition doesn't pay me enough to make it on only once a week, but I'll be getting more than three weeks when the manager gets rid of one of the other screw-ups that I've met before. Or that creepy old lady who wore eye shadow too much."

Peter laughed. "Why did you even go there then?"

"Because, I found it in a newspaper ad that said they would double the salary."

"How about you? What do you do for a living?" Paige asked him this time.

"I… actually, I'm in a band."

"Really? What's it called?"

"The Monkees. There are four of us you see. There's Mike, Davy, Micky and me."

"Why did you call your band the Monkees?"

"Well, because we act like them. People say we monkey around a lot like kids. I know it sounds crazy, but the name got stuck. We've been living with each other for two years. Basically, we're roommates."

"Four boys living together for two years, what is it that leads to four men living together? Kinky…"

"Huh?" Peter caught on. "Oh, no that's just gross! None of that… ew!" Paige laughed.

"I'm just joking! Geez, you don't have to take everything seriously… I'm so sorry about that."

"No, it's fine."

"So, what kind of music do you play? Rock, country, pop, blues?"

"To be honest, I don't really know what kind of music we play… I guess it's a blend of a bunch of stuff. Maybe you'll come and see us." He mentally slapped himself. Again. He barely knew this girl and here he was inviting her to a gig.

Paige paused for a moment.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"No, it's fine really. Maybe, someday I'll go, but I don't think I'll be able to."

"Well, that's alright. We probably won't have anything scheduled for a while."

"I dig. I imagine that gets hard." Peter glanced around at her. He was about to say something, but he quickly forgotten, however, because the rain slacked off.

"Gee, I'd better go home. It's getting really late. My friends are probably worried about me right now."

"Oh, uh, sure, sure." Paige opened the door for him. Peter put the mug back at the living table.

When Peter put on his shoes, grabbed his umbrella as he was about to leave, Paige tapped him on the shoulder.

"Thank you so much for being a good company." Paige smiled. Peter blushed and didn't answer. Paige looked down when he didn't respond. She stuck out her hand suddenly.

"I'm um, sorry. I don't remember your name, I forgot."

"Peter Thorkelson." He took her hand in his. It was warm and soft.

"What do your friends call you?"

"Pete, Big Peter, or Tork, either way, I don't care."

"Nice to meet you, Pete."

"And you… well I have to get back. Enjoy your hot cocoa and marshmallow by the way."

Paige laughed. "Will do, Peter."

"Goodnight."

"You too, Peter. Later!" Paige smiled and waved before shutting the door.

Peter got home, and luckily, no one had bothered to ask him where he had been. Davy and Micky were sleeping on the couch while the TV was on, and Mike was at the kitchen washing the dishes. It wasn't much longer until Peter went quietly to bed and changed into his pajamas; still unable to shake the spell that Paige had cast him. He recalled the time when he was at Paige's hippie-delic house.

_"You too, Peter. Later!"_ She had said.

_Later?_ Peter thought to himself, his arms rested behind his back, staring at the ceiling.

Later when?


	5. Day Tripper (Oy Vey)

**Chapter 5: Day Tripper (_Oy Vey_)**

Julianne was just getting ready to leave the house to help the Monkees with the cooking. She knew they weren't that much of a good chefs, but she managed to lend a hand improving on their cooking skills, except for Michael. Julianne knew the guys long enough to understand who they were. She knew Michael was stubborn, determined, ambitious, and wants to do everything on his own. But on the inside, he was a softie, a Texan and a Prairie chicken lover with a kind, gentle heart.

Julianne observed their cooking skills: David loved to make salad; healthy stuff for a Manchester vegetarian. Peter loved to bake dessert, cakes, and goodies. Micky had a good taste on cocktails. He'd do it on special occasions, and since his birthday was tomorrow, she's going to make him her special cocktail that her family had been drinking. Mike was only good at grilling steaks; his specialty. But Julianne also saw their bad cooking side as well, mostly Mike burning food in an instant.

She had recalled the day Mike burnt a chicken broth. You can't- how can Mike burn a chicken broth?! When she and her friends were at the living room playing 'Spin the Bottle' along with the guys, Mike left the kitchen to play with them, leaving the stove on. Julianne got so caught up on the game, she hadn't noticed how long they had been playing, a horrid smell came from the kitchen.

She sniffed the air, interrupting the game. "Guys, I smell something burning."

The others sniffed too, alarmed by the scent. Peter started coughing, pointing at a flame forming on the stove.

"Mike!" Everyone swiveled their heads to look at him. They all shook their heads in disappointment.

Julianne checked herself at a full length mirror before leaving. She wanted to look good in front of Davy. But then again, looks didn't matter. She looked prettier the way Davy looked at her. Davy was the least judgemental in the group. Every girls, no matter how tall, short, skinny, heavy, or how old women around the world could get, he still thought that they were beautiful. Julianne put her just curled blonde hair into a bun, put on her scarf and left.

At the Monkees pad, the boys were minding their own business: Peter was playing his banjo, working on a melody at the bandstand near an alcove window that overlooked the view of the beach. Davy combed his clean cut, short chestnut hair. He got a haircut yesterday, because some stranger thought he was a girl, Davy gave him an anguished look. He acted silly for being offended by an off-handed comment from a stranger. He faced the mirror that was hung up on a wall near the kitchen. Micky was playing Hearts with Mike.

Davy went to the bandstand to play guitar with Peter and he noticed he was making a song. "Hey, what cha doin', Peter?"

"Just helping Mike with the new song for you-know-who's birthday," Peter looked at him and whistled. "Groovy haircut, Davy."

"You like it? You like it? I just had it yesterday and Julianne would be surprise to see me."

"I like it! You look like the younger version of yourself when you were sixteen." Peter laughed.

"I do not; I look better than the younger me." Just then, a knock came through the door and Davy opened it. Ah, there she was standing beautifully in front of him. Her blonde hair was pulled into a bun, revealing her amazing pale skin, she wore a scarf around her neck, and a white blouse with blue bell bottoms. She pulled him close and gave him a sweet, tender kiss. She tasted of mint that sended sparks from Davy's head to his toes.

"Hello, love." Davy said dreamily.

"Bonjour, _mon cher_. You look so damn sexy with that haircut." Julianne purred and touched his hair. Davy blushed.

"Julianne? Long time no see!" Peter left the bandstand and hugged her.

She pecked on his cheek. "And you; _J'entendu dire que c'est demain anniversaire de Micky et vous avez besoin de mon aide_." Her accent got thicker when she spoke. Peter looked over his shoulder. Mike and Micky looked up from their cards and raised their eyebrows.

Peter pulled Davy and Julianne to the corner of the pad, so they wouldn't be heard by Micky. "_Nous voulons que vous soyez le chef du parti á demain. Ce soir..._" Julianne taught him how to speak French since she came from Canada. The more he practiced, the better he speak French- his accent improved as well, too- then later on, Peter was going to teach Julianne German. She was interested, amazed that they have to learn their languages together.

"I know, Davy told me. But, if we're going to plan on making ingredients, recipe's for tomorrow's party, then we have to get Micky out of this house. He might hear what we're discussing and I want it to be a surprise. _Est-ce que tu veux, Peter_?"

"Kick him out?! That's rude." Peter exclaimed.

"No, I meant that I want him to get distracted for a while."

"How?" Peter thought about it for a moment.

Davy chirped. "Oh, I know; Micky was going to grandpa-sit his Gramps. He should be leaving by now. I'll drop him off to the airport. He's going to Chicago by the way."

"But, we need you there. We need you to tell us the recipe of the Sheppard's Pie."

"Why do you think Julianne's here?"

"Oh... never mind."

"Okay, guys. I'll go say hi to them first." Julianne pecked Mike and Micky's cheek. She always do that everytime she visits The Monkees. She thinks it's the polite way to treat each other kindly and fair, but Davy got used to it, since he got this issue on getting jealous very easily. But he thought it was really sweet, too.

"So, what were you guys talking about since I don't speak French?"

"Well, she said that it was Micky's birthday and we needed her help, and I told her that we want her to be the chef for tomorrow night's party."

"God, I've got to learn how to speak French!"

"You should. But it takes a good long practice." Peter replied. They both went to the living room, Davy grabbing Micky's luggage near the table.

"Mick, you ready?" Davy asked. Micky nodded. Davy gestured for Mike's car keys, as Mike handed it to him. Davy and Micky went to the driveway and closed the door shut. Peter, Mike and Julianne went in the kitchen.

Julianne, Mike, and Peter sat at the kitchen table, Julianne jotting down lists of the Shepherd's Pie ingredient. "This should do it." She showed them the paper as they read along her writing. Peter and Mike nodded in an agreement as they began to work in the kitchen.

"Okay, so now I need to mince the meat. I'm not going to put too much in it, since Davy's a 'vegetarian'... well he tries to be." Julianne explained as Peter and Mike were getting the kitchen utensils from the cupboard.

"I need three tablespoons of milk and two tablespoons of oil." She called out. Peter handed her the milk and the oil. They were working in progress as if they were in a kitchen rush. Peter worked on the dessert, cake, making ice creams and brownies, Mike went to the back patio and started grilling the raw meat. Time passed by and they were all damped in sweat, the temperature of the pad making their bodies hot with heat. Julianne wiped off her sweaty forehead as she finally added the final touch of the pie. She puts it in the oven, and started helping Peter with the cake.

When she saw what Peter was doing, she was impressed. She then helped him with the glazing and the decoration of his white-chocolate mousse cake. The wonderful smell wafted through Julianne's nose. "Mmmm... that smells delicious, Pete. Good job." she patted him at the back.

"Thanks. Been working on it lately." Peter smiled. He finally put the last frosting that he needed to put in. He and Julianne carefully put it in a container to keep the cake's frosting moist and flavourful. They both high fived and helped Mike with the steaks.

Julianne observed his meal and shook her head, making a 'tsk' sound. Mike glared at her. "What?"

"You're cooking the steaks in well done. Try medium well."

"I cook 'em the way Papa Nez wants to cook 'em." Julianne rolled her eyes at his arrogant statement. She grabbed an extra apron from the kitchen and came back with kitchen tongs and a plate with a container filled with red wine. She put in each raw meat in the container. Mike swiveled his head around, his eyes widened as he quickly approached Julianne and stopped her.

"What the hell are you doing? I'm doing this on my own. I'm fine, just stay out of my way!"

"Mike stop it! You don't know what you're doing."

Mike dropped his jaw and closed it, clenching his teeth. "Don't know what I'm doing, huh? Who are you, Julia Child from _The French Chef? _Oh I see how it is."

"Look, Mike I'm helping you. If you don't want to get another appliances to destroy, I might as well lend a hand." She let go of Mike's grip, but he was tougher as he looks.

"Mike, let go. Listen to her! You don't know what you're doing. I don't want you to get hurt again like before." Peter piped up.

"Who's side are you on? Your friend or Ms. I'm-better-at-everything?"

"Excuse me?" Julianne hit him on the head with the kitchen tongs. Mike snarled, while Peter grabbed him and pulled him inside the living room.

"Peter!" Mike hissed.

"Look Mike, you've got to give her a chance. You wouldn't want to do this all day now, would you? Stop denying everything, Mike. You're the one who's not good at everything! You always blame the stove or the oven for ruining the meal, but you're the ones who had been screwing up the cooking for a damn long time. Can't you just stop? Just admit that you're wrong, and get your butt there and listen to her speak! I'm sick... no, _we're_ sick and tired of you not admitting your mistakes! We knew it for a long time that you're not good at making meals for us! God, phew! I'm glad that's out of my chest." Mike was surprised to hear his friend say that. Peter looked at him.

"Wow, Pete... was that true of-of what you just said?"

"I'm sorry Mike, but yeah. It is true. The truth hurts you know." Mike sighed and sat down on the couch, head in his hands. He knew that he was never admitting it. It was very unlike him; First he was making an ass about himself. Second, he was being selfish, and third he was being very cocky. Peter sat beside him, stroking Mike's back.

"Hey, man. I'm so sorry."

Mike lifted his head and looked at his friend. "No, Peter. You're right, I am denying that I'm a terrible cook. It's just that it makes me feel so... better about almost everything. I haven't been listening to everyone, turning my ears off from others, especially you guys. Look, I'm going to make it up for ya. From now on, I'll listen to what you guys say. And I'll promise not to cook in the kitchen."

Peter smiled. "That's the spirit. But, just keep on grilling some steaks. To be honest, you're great at that, but we hated your steak when it's well done."

Mike chuckled. "Alright, man. I get it. I'll apologize to her." He slipped in the balcony watching Julianne sitting down at the hammock that was put by Peter. Mike quietly approached her and tapped her shoulder. She turned around showing an impassive look on her face.

"I'm sorry."

"Then admit you're-"

"I'm wrong, I'm an ass, I'm selfish, arrogant, cocky in my own way. I've never should have done that to you. You're Davy's girlfriend for God's sake!" Mike interrupted.

"Oh, dear... I can't stand to see you like this, Mikey." She hugged him tightly, Mike slowly hugged her back, weird that she now gave a nickname for him.

"Me neither." Mike replied. Julia smiled at him. He smiled back.

"Come on, I'll help you with the steak." Julianne said, as she propped up from her elbows and got off the hammock. She pushed Mike to the grill and told her the proccess of grilling the steak.

About two hours or so, they all crashed in the living room, exhausted from all the day's work. Sooner or later, Mike bought some decorations for Micky's party and put it in the storage room. He just got a call from Micky's mom saying that she was almost done with the song. Peter and Julianne helped him with it as well. They got a chance to pick Coco to sing it for her brother. When they were done, Peter and Mike sat down in the living room, while Julianne was making them some strawberry-banana milkshake. Mike glanced at her from the corner of his eye, with a look of pity on his face. He then helped her with the beverages, Julianne was surprised by his initiativeness. She couldn't help but grinned at him. She pecked on his cheek and hugged him.

"Thanks, Michael." She whispered.

"No, problem. And I'm so sorry about-"

"No, Mike it's over. I'm fine really." Julianne handed him two of the milkshake as Mike went to the living room and gave the milkshake to Peter.

"Thanks, Mike."

"Don't mention it, bud." The three of them sat down in the living room as they watched their all time sitcom TV show favourite, _"The Marx Brothers."_

* * *

Micky had just got his passport checked while Davy carried his luggage along the way. They waited for the next airplane flight for another thirty-minutes. Micky tapped his feet while drumming his hands on his lap, waiting. Davy bought some drinks for them at the lobby.

"Oh thanks, babe," Micky said as Davy handed him his soda. Micky took a long gulp on his drink before speaking. "So, uh Davy... how are things with Julianne?"

"Man, she looked groovy today. I haven't seen her since last month. She had been really busy with her new career. She told me yesterday that she had a job in this club I've never even heard of, downtown. It was a popular place called umm... _Pandora's Box Bar & Grill. _I'm happy for her."

"Well, I'm glad." Micky patted his Manchester friend's back. Davy chuckled.

"What about you? How are things with Celina?" Davy nudged him by the elbow. Micky cut him off.

"Nothing, man. It's just... well... she called me last night if she wants to have dinner with me right after I grandpa sit Gramps." Before Micky went to bed last night, he snuck into the living room to talk to Celina. He was glad she was still awake at that time.

"Hello?" Celina answered.

"Hey, babe." He replied softly.

"How'd you make out?"

"Well, I haven't told them yet..."

"What?! Why?"

"Well, I just think that they're throwing me a party on Friday night. It's pretty obvious."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Oh and I'm leaving tomorrow morning to grandpa sit Grams."

"Awww. I was just going to ask you if you could hang out with me. But since you're leaving, how about on Saturday? I'm sure we'll have plenty of time."

Micky blinked. There was a short pause. Without even thinking, he said, "Yes! I'd love to."

"Great, see ya then, bye!"

Micky heard from the PA system that his flight had arrived. He stood up and wiped his hands from the sides of his pants. He shook Davy's hand and hugged him.

"Boy, it's just one day of grandpa-sitting and already I'm going to miss you." Micky said.

"Hey, don't worry Mick. Everything's going to be fine."

"I'll see ya tomorrow then."

"Goodbye, Mick."

"G'bye Davy baby." Micky waved as he disappeared into the throng of people in the lobby. Davy left and drove home.

* * *

"Good morning, sir. What would you like for your breakfast?" The flight attendant asked Micky as he leaned back from his chair.

"I want some turkey sandwich and an apple juice, please."

"Alright, that'll be six dollars." Micky handed her the money as she gave him the sandwich and the beverage. After the stewardess had left, Micky quickly ate his sandwich with just one big bite. He gulped the whole apple juice and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He burped without covering his mouth, making the passengers look at him.

"Oops, my bad. Excuse me." he mumbled. He gazed out the window looking at the view. He saw the airport getting smaller and smaller until the plane got several miles away from his home. He sighed and leaned his head back, trying to think of nothing and fell asleep.

Micky had a dream; an amazing dream that seemed real. He was walking with Celina on the beach, him wearing nothing but trunks and Celina wearing a bikini. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. They were the only ones alone. Just what Micky had wanted for a long time.

"Say, wanna race ya to the water?" Micky smirked at her.

"Okay." Celina ran before Micky got himself settled.

"Hey I wasn't ready yet!" He shouted.

"Last one's a rotten egg!" She stuck her tongue out. Micky laughed and ran after her. Celina yelped and went to the ocean. She slipped and fell when Micky grabbed her by the leg. Celina gasped for breath as she splashed Micky with water.

"Cheater! Cheater!" She screamed and playfully punched him by the arm. Micky laughed. Celina gave him a sly smile and dug under the water. Micky wandered around for her and chuckled.

"Come out, come out wherever you are~" Micky looked around the water and surprisingly fell. Celina grabbed him by the leg and pinned him down. Micky splashed frantically as Celina got water in her eyes. She let go of him, her eyes stung with salt water.

Micky spat out water from his mouth and gasped for breath, coughing. "So we're pretty much even then."

Celina wiped her eyes and stifled a laugh. "Yeah I think so," She lay back on the water looking up at the purple sky. She floated away, sighing. "Isn't this beautiful?"

Micky laid on his back, too. Looking up at the sky. "Yeah," he agreed. They stayed like that for God knows how long and held each other's hands, fingers intertwined.

Suddenly someone called Celina's name. Perfect, a great way to ruin the best thing that was going to happen to you.

Celina shot up and looked frantically from that voice.

"Celina!" it called again with a slight accent. _Wait a minute, that sounded familiar...__ Could it be? _

Celina saw a man stood several meters away from them. The man waved as Celina squinted, taking in his masculine body that was a bit tanned and very tall. Really good looking; perfect to be in one of the public media around the world, a model. With his chestnut hair slicked back with oil and gel, and his white shiny teeth that almost blinded Celina even though he was several meters away from her. He looked even_ way_ gorgeous than Micky... or Davy.

Celina gasped leaving her mouth dry. "B-brandon?" she mumbled.

Micky shot up looking from Celina to Brandon. His jaw dropped. "Wait... BRANDON? Brandon?! B-b-b-b-randon? That Randy Scouse Git who stripped off your bikini?!" He freaked out.

"Y-yeah, that's him." Celina's voice became dreamy all of a sudden. She ran up to Brandon and hugged him tightly, Brandon lifted her off her feet, leaving Micky standing there surprised. "Oh my goodness, I haven't seen you for, what fifteen years? So damn long!"

"Yeah, I know. I didn't know you lived here. I missed you. A lot. I've been thinking about you lately." He said as he let go of her. Micky was shocked, grunted and stomped his way to them. He tapped Brandon's shoulder and spun around. Micky was surprised how tall he was and a bit muscular. Compared to him, who was lanky, and had no body built, and his leg one shorter than the other.

"Uh... can I help you?" Asked the 6"3 man.

"Ahem? She's with me." Micky glared at him. He grabbed Celina's arm and looked at Brandon. "Can you give us a moment?"

They both walked away and stood near a giant rock. He pulled Celina close and looked at her. "What did he say about missing you a lot?"

"Mick, we haven't seen each other for a really long time." She explained.

"But remember what you told me? Him being a pervert? You know, he had no balls for showing respect to you."

Celina gave him an anguish look. "Micky, that was eons of years ago, I think he's mature enough to realize that. And I'm going to forgive him for that."

Micky held her hands tight, not caring about what she said, he nuzzled his nose to hers. "I love you."

Celina pulled away from him abruptly. "I... I can't."

Micky looked worried, his heart racing. "W-what do you mean you can't?"

Celina looked down and fidgeted. "I'm hmrlve whfrgt Brandon." She mumbled.

Micky furrowed his eyebrows. "What?"

"I-I'm in love with Brandon." She blurted out.

_What?! Why did she say that?_ He frowned, his mouth dry. "I thought _you_ loved me..."

"Well, that was until... he came. I mean... look at him! Isn't he so damn sexy?" She batted her eyelashes at him. She looked at Micky and put her hand on his shoulder. "Sweetie, I'm so sorry. Maybe you'll find someone to love with. Someday..." She trotted to Brandon, and wrapped her arm around his. She touched his biceps, her looks were dreamy and sighed. The two started walking away, and Brandon looked back at Micky.

"See ya, sucker!" He laughed. Celina laughed, too as she tossed her hair and walked away, leaving a crestfallen Micky who knelt down the sand and buried his face in it.

Micky jumped from his dream as he sat straight up and looked around. He was still in the plane and finally relaxed himself. He looked at his watch, it was eleven in the morning. The pilot spoke from the PA system letting the passengers know that they were be landing in a few minutes. Micky sighed as he wiped his sweat from his forehead, his eyes wide from what he had dreamt. Why would Celina do that? Was it because Brandon looked more manly than him? Or was it because Brandon had seduced her into liking him? He wanted to tell someone. Maybe Davy could understand what it was about. He couldn't tell Celina about it. He just can't.

"Taxi!" Micky waved as the cab stopped at the curb. He got inside with his big luggage putting it at the back of the trunk. He grunted and told the driver the address of the house. He crossed his arms and looked out the window, biting his nails. He just can't believe he had that horrible dream. He tried to shake it away from his mind, but it seemed to be planted into his head. The worst nightmare... ever. He stared out the window looking at the place. Ah, Chicago. A busy town. The view was very different than California. There were street scene cars and shops, a bit like New York. It wasn't much of a jam packed road... just a little bit, and a bit crowded living downtown. It was new for Micky, everything he saw looked really new. Lots of Broadway theatres going on, the buildings were tall, huge and very colourful. He might have to get used to the place. Chicago was big. _Really_ big. The weather was less humid compared to his home. Very humid, jam packed, a popular place to be living in, and the main theme; the beach.

As the cab pulled out of the driveway, Micky stepped on the front porch and knocked on the door. Mrs. Geller opened it with a bright smile on her face. "Hello, Micky. Welcome! Come in, come, come."

"So, Thomas is at the living room, I'll take that for you. We have another spare room upstairs." Aunt Casey gestured for his luggage and grabbed it inside. Micky stepped in the big house admiring the inside of it. It's like living in a famous person's house. The place was very ornate designed very elegantly with angels and sculptures. There was a hallway that lead through a huge kitchen, two sets of living room, and two guest rooms after that. The back patio had a wide swimming pool and some lounge chairs that were set aside it. Upstairs were the family's bedrooms were.

"Oh, Micky you'll be needing these," Aunt Casey gave him an aspirin, Micky had a confused look. "These are for your grandfather. He needs to take one tablet every four to six hours to help reduce the fever and makes him feel more comfortable. Thomas needs plenty of rest, so he needs to drink plenty of warm water to prevent dehydration- he has a difficulty of breathing so sometimes he would cough. I have a list of things that you need to do in here while we're gone. Make sure he eats before six at night. I think I've explained enough. Some things here on the list would help you for taking care of Thomas."

Micky saw Luther's father came down from the stairs. "Ah, Micky Dolenz. Pleasure to meet you here." He stuck out his hand. Micky shook it.

"It's very good to see you, Mr. Geller- er uncle..." Micky smiled shyly.

"Well, it's been a long time. How are your friends and families?

"Everything's fine, really. The guys and I are doing well and my family are swell."

"Well, it's good to know. We'll be leaving now. Luther! Your cousin's here!" Luther came downstair when his father called him. He saw Micky and waved. "Hey, Mick. Long time no see, pal."

"Hey, bud. Nice to see ya, too." Micky smiled and gave Luther a pat on the back. "Good luck on your tournament. I hope you'll get your head in the game."

"Aww, thanks. See ya later, Mick!"

"Will do." Micky replied back as the Gellers went inside their car and drove off. Micky closed the door and went in the living room to take care of Thomas. He found him sitting on the living room couch watching TV. He laid his head back, leaning uncomfortably in it. Gramps coughed and coughed as Micky helped him get up.

"Oh, why thank you, lad. You must be Micky. Wow, you've finally grown up." Gramps smiled.

"No problem. Sure is good to see you, Gramps. Are you feeling okay? You need anything? I'm sure you want to get out of that couch, don't you?"

"Yeah, makes me feel uncomfortable. Why don't you lend me that cane so we can talk in the kitchen? I'm hungry myself." Micky grabbed the cane at the coffee table and gave it to Gramps. He carefully helped him stood up, since he looked fragile and old. Micky felt a twinge of sympathy as he helped his grandfather. It was a really long time since he had met him with the Gellers during Thanksgiving. Thomas looked really healthy than today. He loved to exercise every morning, loves to eat salads and guacamole. But now he was just a weakling.

They both went to the kitchen as Micky grabbed the list that Aunt Casey gave him. He took it out and surprised to see the paper was long. Almost like a scroll to him. "Okay... make a chicken soup, heat it up for seven to eight minutes. Cut some celeries, and spring onions for additional taste, add salt." Micky began to grab a pot in the cupboard under the kitchen counter. He turned on the stove while he boiled water in the kettle. He put the pot on the stove while waiting for the kettle to whistle. A few minutes or so, he chopped some vegetables and put them in the pot, after the water was boiled. He waited for another two minutes as he grabbed a can of pop from the stainless steel fridge. He sat at the kitchen table talking to Gramps.

"Micky ol' boy. How's life?" Gramps asked.

"Nothing much. My friends and I didn't do anything lately... but we're planning on fixing our schedule for our upcoming concert in about a month or so, but everything's fine, sir." Micky said it simply. He wasn't in a mood for talking about his day or his dream. He had enough since he had that dream of Celina with Brandon. He cringed.

"What's the matter?" Gramps caught his reaction.

"Oh uh, nothin'... my back hurt on the way here. I didn't get any much sleep lately." Micky lied. As much as he wanted to talk someone about his dream, he hated to lie to his grandfather. Maybe when Gramps goes to sleep, he'd snuck in the living room to call his friends. Or maybe later.

Micky served Gramps his chicken soup. As Gramps was eating in the kitchen, the telephone in the living room rang. Micky quickly answered it. "Hello?"

"Hi, may I speak to Micky? It's his friend Davy."

Micky sighed in relief. "This is he. What's up?"

"How's the flight? Are you okay?"

"Eh, I'm fine. I'm here alone with Gramps."

"Oh, that's good. I'm just checking if you're okay."

"I'm... fine."

"Hey, man. Somethin's wrong, just tell me."

"I had a dream when I was in the plane..."

"What was it?"

"It's about Celina. You know how she took me to lunch yesterday?"

"Yeah."

"Well, she told me about this guy, Brandon. He told me how he was a perverted guy. He was British and he did something... embarassing to her. Much likely, I've never even met this guy, but he was in my dream. He said he missed Celina since they haven't even seen each other for a long while... well you know what Celina told me? She told me she never loved me. She dumped me over him. It was weird."

Davy chuckled at the end of the line. "Oh, man. A dream's a dream. It ain't gonna happen in real life you know? Don't worry about it. You know what? We'll talk later when you get home tomorrow. See ya, Mick."

"Okay, bye babe." Micky hung up the phone and came back in the kitchen, continuing to do what he needed to do. Boy, this sure was going to be a _long_ day.


End file.
